


Muddy Hands

by Koalolive



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blind Reader, First Meetings, Fluff, Gender-neutral Reader, Other, POV Second Person, Post-Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:52:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5428622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koalolive/pseuds/Koalolive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reader is a blind artist who works with clay as their medium, minding their own business on a lazy Saturday</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muddy Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not blind, I can not vouch for anyone who is, I just wrote this for fun and felt like sharing, so I apologize if I happened to make any mistakes.

   It was a cold Saturday afternoon as you sat in your usual seat at the pottery studio you were a permanent member to. The heated inside was a huge contrast to the cold wind that blew outside, especially considering the few kilns a room over were constantly on full-blast. You sat there, only adorning leggings, a tank top, and an apron over it all, your foot gently pressed the pedal of the pottery wheel, having it spin as you worked your way around the clay that was barely starting to dry. You gently hummed to yourself as your hands shaped the clay, still not exactly sure what you wanted to make. Reaching for your bowl of water, you felt it's rim and slid your hands into it, dipping your fingers into the water. You pulled them out and worked your wet hands over the clay again. As you did, you heard the jingling bells of the front door as it opened, proceeded by the indistinct chatter of a small group, maybe about six, no, seven people. The studio you were a member of doubled as a normal pottery studio, where one could make pieces from scratch and take lessons; as well as one of those ‘paint-your-own’ things, the place mostly for kids at parties, although, adults did it too sometimes. Considering it was a weekend afternoon, you were a bit surprised that the place wasn’t busy, like it usually was, but aside from yourself, (before the group walked in,) the only people in the studio was what you assumed to be a young, lovestruck couple, a few adults, and the owner along with her 16 year old daughter.

   You felt a slight itch on your cheek and brought a clay covered finger up to scratch it, not caring about getting clay all over you because; A, you were used to it by now, and B, your arms were already covered in patches of wet and dry clay. You brought your hand back to the clay on the spinning surface and messed around with it's shape.

   As you worked the clay a bit higher, you heard the scurry of a child's feet heading in your direction.

   Larger footsteps followed them and your name was called in a friendly tone “good afternoon, my child.”

   You perked up, hearing the familiar voice, taking your foot off the wheel’s pedal. “Toriel.” You smiled. “Hello.” As soon as you said it, you felt a small hand touch your bare shoulder. “And I assume Frisk as well.”

   “You’re assumption is correct.” Toriel responded.

   Toriel and Frisk were frequent customers of the studio within the last few months. They had originally come because Toriel had a coupon for Frisk to paint a plate for free, and after that, the two were instantly hooked. You had an interesting way of communicating with Frisk though, them being selectively mute, and you blind, Toriel had to do some translating.

   “Hello, Frisk.” You smiled in their general direction, scrunching up your nose a bit, anticipating their next move.

   Frisk proceeded to boop your nose lightly with a finger-- it was something they loved to do, for some reason.

   “What are you making?” Toriel asked curiously.

   You heard several other pairs of feet shuffle over to your area, as you replied. “Oh, I actually don’t know yet.” You turned back to the piece, reaching out to it with a hand and gently tracing your fingers over it's shape. “Maybe I’ll make a bowl, or a vase maybe.”

   As you heard the shuffling feet come to a stop, another voice spoke up. “Hey bucko, how ya **wheel** ing today?”

   Toriel began to giggle as you turned your head into the direction of the voice. “Ha, ha, very funny Sans.”

   You knew Sans to an extent; he was Toriel’s boyfriend and had come in two or three times with Toriel and Frisk.

   Turning you head back toward Toriel, you asked. “So, what brings you guys here today? Anything in particular?” You normally wouldn’t ask, but hearing more pairs of feet made you curious.

   “Oh! After our last visit, Frisk and I earned just enough hole punches for a discount of a whole group, so, we bought some more friends with us.” She said in a cheerful tone, clasping her hands together. “Go on, introduce yourselves.”

   “Greetings, human!” You flinched slightly from the sudden, booming voice. “I, am The Great Papyrus!”

   “He’s my brother.” Sans chimed.

   You nodded in response-- he had been mentioned a few times before.

   Another voice spoke up, not as loud, “Undyne, former leader of the royal guard!” She snickered.

   “A-And I’m Alphys,” A softer, stuttering voice proceeded. “Former royal scientist, current normal scientist.”

   You smiled, introducing yourself. “I’d shake your hands if I could, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want that.” You replied, holding up your clay covered hands.

   Toriel gave a small laugh, “Alright everyone, shall we get to it?”

   “But what about-”

   “H-He’s running a l-little late, he’ll be here soon.”

   The group continued to talk as they shuffled to the area behind you. Different blank ceramic pieces covered the shelves behind where you were seated at the wheel, waiting to be painted by patrons. The groups chattering got distant as they made their way to the other side of the studio to pick out their glazes.

   You dipped your hands into the water again, pressing the pedal, and began to wet the clay again, shaping it. You grabbed more clay from the side of you, and added it to the spinning form. Just then, the door to the studio slammed open, and you jumped, a small gasp escaping your lips.

   A loud “Hello~” followed the slam.

   A moment later, you heard screaming from the front of the studio, it wasn’t negative though, it sounded excited. You decided not to pay it any mind since the owner and her daughter were very lively. Although the ‘hello’ sounded vaguely familiar.  

   Shrugging, you turned your attention to the wheel, but paused. Yook your foot off the pedal, feeling what you had made so far, it didn’t feel promising, so you scrapped the whole thing. Stepping on the pedal again, you used a palette knife to scrape off the excess clay from the wheel as it spun, and grabbing a sponge from the water dish, you wiped down the surface of the spinning wheel. With your other hand, you grabbed a clump of clay and slapped it onto the wheel once it slowed down some. Pressing on the pedal with your foot, you wet your hands and brought them to the clay, smoothing it out.

   As you did that, you heard the far off scurry of little feet again, near the front of the door. You smiled to yourself; Frisk was always so full of energy, you thought. As you finally figured out what you were going to make--a teapot-- you began to slowly form the clay upward, then press it back down, pressing your thumbs into the top to make a small divot. Just as you did, the scurry of little feet made their way in your direction, the sound of clicking heels followed. Did you not realize someone was wearing heels before? Whatever. You lifted your head in the direction of the footsteps. “Is that a little Frisk I hear?” You asked with a smile.

   They responded with little clapping hands.

   You continued smiling as you wet your hands again and put your thumbs into the divot, gently stretching the clay outward to make a bowl-like shape. “What brings you back over here?”

   Their feet stepped over a few feet away for a moment and then made their way back, the clicking heels continuing again, following Frisk.

   You lifted your head curiously.

   “Oh sorry, Frisk, dear, I was just admiring all these beautiful works of art.” You heard a new voice speak, it sounded kind of … metallic? But also, very, _very_ familiar.

   You furrowed your brow as you turned your attention back to the wheel, not looking down since you didn’t need to, and continued to shape and form the clay, bringing it up into a hollow cylinder shape. Since when did they put artwork up? Just yesterday the owner was commenting about similar studios cluttering their walls with art; she liked the naked look of the walls. Maybe they were talking about the shelf of pre-made ceramics behind you? A moment later, your concentration was interrupted by the familiar voice again.

   “How do you do that so well?”

   “How?” You asked in response, wetting a hand and slowly sliding it into the opening, making the form wider from the inside.

   “Yes, how?”

   “Are you asking in general, or because I’m blind?” You asked dryly.

   “Both.” The person admitted.

   You took your hand out of the form and wet both hands and began to shape the bottom of it with them as you answered. “You learn from practice, and just because I can’t see, doesn’t mean I can’t _**see**_. I’m able to see with my hands rather than my eyes; I can see the forms I create beneath my fingertips-- it just take a little bit of patience.”

   There was silence for a moment before they answered. “What an eloquent response.”

   The word choice this person used seemed rather… eccentric. It was going to eat away at you if you didn’t find out if you knew this person or not. You took your foot off the pedal and withdrew your hands, looking up in the direction their voice was coming from. “I’m sorry, but you sound kind of familiar.”

   After a brief moment of silence, they started to laugh, it was so… charming. Once they calmed, they gave you the answer that brought everything together. “My name is Mettaton, darling. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

   You paused, letting this new information sink in, and your face immediately flushed with heat. You swallowed hard, feeling your throat go dry. All you could do was nod, even though it might have been a rhetorical question. You’d heard of him alright-- you were a fan of his, mainly his late evening talk show because there weren’t many visuals you had to have described to you. You were primarily enraptured by the sound of his voice.

   “Oh, so you have! Tell me dear, are you a fan?” He asked, you heard his voice get a bit closer.

   You were about to reply when you heard Frisk grunt in disapproval.

   “Oh Frisk, honey, give me a few moments and I’ll be right over to join you, alright?” he asked.

   They must have physically shown their approval, since you heard their feet trail away.

   “You don’t mind if I sit with you a moment, do you?” He asked.

   “Oh uh, n-no, not at all.” You shook your head, mentally kicking yourself for stuttering. You heard his heeled feet walk a few steps away and pick up a stool or a chair or something, and make his way back over, setting it down gently. As he did; you wet both of your hands again, covered the form in some water to make it wetter since it had dried a bit, dipped your hands in the water once more, pressed your foot to the pedal, and stuck a hand into it, working it from the inside to give it a rounder shape.

   “So, as I had previously asked, are you a fan of mine?”

   “Oh uh, yeah, kinda.” You replied. “I um… I listen to your talk show.” You wet your hands again and gently, with the space between your thumb and index finger, pinched around the top and began to make the opening to the form more narrow.

   “Do you enjoy it? It’s important for me to get feedback from my fans.” He asked, and you could hear the grin in his voice.

   You wet a hand again, bringing the opening more and more narrow, forming the top of the sphere. “As much as I can, I do. It’s kind of hard for me to watch certain shows, because I have to have an audio description of everything happening on screen. But with your show,” You wet your fingers of your dominant hand, sticking them into the opening that, within the last few moments, had gone from a diameter of six inches to just three. You pressed up against the inside of the opening, making a lip. “...I can just sit and listen to you talk. There’s never really any problems until you start doing some crazy theatrics, but that’s every once in awhile, so I don’t mind.” You wet the tips of your fingers and gently began to make a recess for the lid to sit in, wetting your fingers every few moments.

   “Well, I’m very glad to hear that.” He replied.

   You nodded and grabbed a sponge, sliding it gently from the top lip, down to the base, smoothing the outside. You took your foot off the pedal and glanced over in the direction of where he sat. “Does this look alright?”

   The only thing you heard from him was “Wow.”

   You couldn’t help but giggle.

   “That … That was just a hunk of clay not even five minutes ago.” He said, his voice awestruck.

   “Mmhmm.” You replied.

   “And now it’s this.”

   “I know, I made it. It’s not done yet though. I’m making a teapot.”

   “What? How?”

   “Uh… With my hands?” You replied, holding up your wet, clay covered hands, the thick, muddy water dripped down them and to your elbows.

   “It’s very… Messy.” He said, dejectedly.

   “It is.” You nodded. For some reason, you found yourself surprisingly calm while talking to him, considering you were at least some form of starstruck.

   “How…” You heard his voice get closer, much closer. “How did you get such a big amount on your _face_?”

   “M-My face was itchy, and I had to scratch it, so I did.” You replied, simply.

   His voice moved back to where it was originally. “I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t catch your name.”

   “Oh, I-I’m sorry, I’m,” You replied with your name. “I-I’d offer my hand, but uh…” You trailed.

   Your name rolled off his tongue, sending a shiver up your spine. “I like it.”

   You nodded in response, hoping you weren’t noticeably flustered.

   “May I ask you a question?”

   You nodded again.

   “Do they have gloves for making pottery?” He asked curiously.

   You paused a moment. “I think people just use thin, rubber, medical gloves. Why do you ask?”

  
  


      “Will you teach me?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> My friend and I were going back and forth with some prompts and, well, I thought this one was too cute not to post.
> 
> Hope you enjoy~


End file.
